Full Stop
by pozarpel
Summary: Love, or something awful like that. Ghost Hunt drabbles about Mai & Naru being painful and malfunct.
1. anything

Mai slinks into the room—closing the door with more force than necessary—and falls into an armchair, letting her bookbag droop at the side. She sighs. Loudly.

"That's an interesting way to say _tadaima_," Yasuhara remarks brightly, bustling with movement in the small kitchen. Mai doesn't look up, and that's when he knows it's his cue to interfere.

"Oh, come on, Mai."

She hears the dull clank of plates, then shuffling footsteps—then Yasuhara is sitting next to her, squishing for space on the arm of the chair. She turns, pressing her face into the pillow.

"I want to see him," she mumbles, and her friend's not sure which Davis twin she means, but it's most assuredly one of them. He presses palm against her shoulder in a way he hopes is some comfort, but he knows there's only so much he can offer her.

"I don't care if he's a jerk to me when I go," she continues fiercely, "and if he doesn't want to see me at all—"

"He would."

"You don't know that." Mai droops more, feeling coarse embarrassment rise on the edge of her throat. She is well-aware she's being pitiful. She is well-aware that Noll, even in his absence, is an affront to her pride and sensibility. Like a true scientist, she's localized the issue and—sorted it out somewhat: she loves him, loves him, loves him. She's never met anyone like him. But now he's far-gone, and she thinks those trans-continental links between them might be busted or, worse, one-sided.

Played for a fool again.

Yasu gets up.

A minute later, he comes back with an arm full of books, lets them spill all over his lap as he settles down next to her. "Mai," he begins, and switches course entirely—time for English. "We have studying to do."

She perks up at that. Pauses. "I still can't do the _eru_." she says in her first tongue, clenching the sofa fabric as she pulls herself up.

"O-li-ver." Yasu says gently.

"O-li-ver." _Of course, she'd still call him Naru if she got the chance._

It's too stupid (perfect for someone like her) but she feels that much closer to him. She studies English like she's never studied anything before, eats up every word that Naru might be saying on the other side of the world.

* * *

( ( Sporadic drabbles! Many inspired in part by The Transfer by Malindorie which might be my favorite thing ever right now. ) )


	2. mutual dysfunction

If she died, he'd only want to dissect her body.

(Though he's always trying to make sure she _doesn't._)

If she died, he'd be stock-still; he wouldn't cry or say one useless grieving word.

(Though he wouldn't be able to forget her.)

On his part, he has to deal with the difficult truth that she is probably still in love with Gene.

Between the two of them, they much prefer to speak as though he existed, rather than tip-toeing on the fringe of his past. Oh, he's still there, too, and Noll can see the way they light up together, grins like small stars, two of a kind. That's part of the issue, he supposes, if he'd like to go into it.

(He doesn't.)

Mai is enough like Gene that he doesn't mind her. And he is enough like Gene that Mai can look at him tenderly and draw something like warmth out of it.

When they sit together at the end of the day, they find something like comfort and something like loss. And, supposedly, something like love.

(He's not quite sure anymore.)


	3. subdued

In England, things are... simpler.

Quieter. There is less activity and more labwork, more days passed in his father's library than in the field. It does not make Oliver any less productive, naturally: he does what he lives for, and all that is sorted under the overhanging category of work. He does not like the living, and even less so now that he's been relegated back to researcher-investigator-potential psychic guinea pig (he knows Father's colleagues eye him. They are in for disappointment.)

Naru is no longer the boss.

He is still more competent than most of the British SPR. And he still chooses which cases to take, and which fools to put up with. And his work ethic is certainly just as crazed as it's ever been. He supposes there's some minute difference now that he doesn't have the title of leader anymore. Or maybe the ghost hunters he finds himself working with nowadays are not as skilled or experienced as the ones he left behind in Japan.

No- they are exceptionally more professional. What they are is not as _loud _as his former cohorts. Not as prone to childish fits or bickering, and not inclined to call him silly things or bring him tea or poke into his personal life- rather, when they _do_ do that, they always have some embarrassingly blatant ulterior motive related to placement in the society or to some nosy investigation of the renowned and mysterious psychic, and only with that contrast does Naru come to realize that the Irregulars in Japan would do all of those annoying things to him because they wanted to be friends. He supposes that doesn't make it any less annoying.

He doesn't let it interfere with _work. _But he hardly realizes it when he begins to think on it more and more and more each bleak British morning.

He'd like to return to Japan.

* * *

So I decided even chapters would be them together & odd chapters would be more focused on them as individuals :/ Some structure, I guess. This is all mostly shoddy character study for when I fINALLY GET AROUND TO WRITING THE UPSETTING NARU/MAI SMUT I'VE BEEN WANTING TO DO FOR WEEKS NOW.


	4. misunderstanding

Mai's been trying not to sleep for ages now.

Naru doesn't want to say a word. He knows it's Gene- she's afraid not to see him (_knows _she won't see him.)

The idea of the last link of his twin being severed is also grating to Naru, since his idiot brother had proven useful on their cases. If he'd move on, though, things would be so much more _concrete._ The uncertainty of their situation has him on an edge he knows nothing about, and all methods of study are off the table.

Mai is even clumsier in the office. He wants to turn her around and send her packing right back home as soon as she gets in- her presence is useless if all she'll do is mumble and blink bleary-eyed at everything- but their cases have run dry for the week, it seems, and Mai is just as comfortable snoozing in the office. She is devoid of shame. If only she _would_ snooze. Better yet, if she could clear her mind and see like he does. Gene's gone. That's not sad.

"Gene's funeral went well," is what he says, prompted only by the mounting issue of a braindead office assistant. She raises her head sharply at the mention of his name, or in shock of such a subject, evidently something she'd been scared to broach with him or Lin. Naru supposes he's thankful for that.  
But he's just relaying information. She doesn't appear to understand what he's saying, though, so he sighs and tries again, a bit more forcibly.

"What I mean, Mai, is that he was well-honored and would likely be more than satisfied with the state of the ceremony. It was prepared well, courtesy of his mother. It wasn't... gloomy." He thought that detail would have pleased Gene. There was crying. But there was a lot of eating and remembering and prattling, too, and it was not hard for Naru to see his brother standing in the midst of all that human connection with the perfect smile Mai loved. "The body was found, the funeral was acceptable. Gene doesn't have any reason to stick around being a _moron_ here. You don't need to wait up for him." _He's waiting for you_, he thinks to say, but the thought itself is too left-field and fleeting.

Mai has her arms crossed on the desk, hunched over tired, and she straightens up, eyes fixed on him. He wonders how that must be. Their faces, like that. He almost wants to turn away- he pities Mai too much, sometimes. It's easy to forget but it's hard not to when the colorless circles under her eyes are a dead give-away for misery.

"Did you speak at the funeral?" she asks, voice very quiet- for her, funerals are a somber and sacred affair, not a way to placate loose souls. The unexpected question incenses him, though. Why should he need to? Why should he need to go and say some petty things about Gene to make petty conversation with crowds of onlookers? There was nothing he could say that would sum up Gene adequately, not for all of those people. It took some doing to drag himself to the maudlin get-together as it was, saying some trite words at everyone would be pointless- that sort of thing would be for them, not for either of the Davis twins. Funerals placated loose souls in part, and their other purpose was for the living to air out nonsense for their own sakes. He did not want any part in that kind of showy _grieving. _

None of them really knew Gene like he did, anyway.

And there were no sufficient words in English, Japanese, or any of the ten languages that his perfect medium brother spoke at sixteen.

"No." He says at length, conclusive. He does not want to have this conversation anymore. Suddenly the point he was trying to get into Mai's thick little head is moot.

She looks at him with pity, too.


	5. unworldly

If there's any question, it's a question of humanity.

Oliver's two bolts short of a robot and he knows it. It is like everyone ever has always said, _his brain works differently_: one of those lovely neutral statements to classify and pacify. It was one of the subtler methods of alienation, but he never really needed any help with that. Oliver has always done things on his own terms, and quiet self-exile was always appealing. Let the others shriek and prance and touch each other to sunrise, all aimless particles on the wind, while his back was turned and his eyes were shut and his alien mind was racing, too, towards some arcane destination.

Loneliness punctured his days in negligible pin-pricks, and they were too easily shrugged off. He thrived alone and suffered with others. Everyone else faced the quandary of what to do to make him happy- to try and break this "wall" he'd supposedly built to test others, or to let him alone in his solitary peace? Maybe no one else could see it. Sometimes Noll couldn't see it; happiness eluded him.

The human consensus was that happiness came from associating with people, but Noll could not find the appeal in something like that. Never once did he seek attention for the sake of attention. They would try to understand him, and he did not think he was open to comprehension. Their noise would be noisy, and their words would be worthless, and he'd be stuck with a contrast that was too close for comfort (between a human and _whatever-he-was_.)

He didn't dwell on it, but the question was always there, begging to be answered.


	6. early fondness

Everyone thinks he doesn't notice a thing if it's not parapsychological. Really, he'd prefer not to, but alas, that is not the case.

There are things- people- on the periphery of spirits and psychics and investigations. He leaves the human aspect of their cases to Mai, because she is very good at empathy. And he knows this because he knows Mai because he notices her, and every pointless, charming thing she does. On outings, his most frequent phrase is still akin to _are you here to work or screw around_ because she warrants it every time, but at this point he cannot imagine an SPR case without _someone _screwing around, and he's not sure why that is. He could never hire an assistant who wasn't Mai, even though it is always mind-numbingly clear that Mai is not top notch as far as assistants go.

But he watches her grow, and he is proud to know her.

She's less clueless every day, for one thing. She gets significantly sharper within the month, and he is oddly pleased to reflect on his having an influence on someone, a positive influence. She can be quick to snap and always with the _attitude _but she is steadily becoming a better assistant, a better ghost hunter, and a better psychic. (Joint efforts, he supposes, and wishes Gene would trust him to not mess up one thing- one _person_- when let alone.)

Then there are the things that are all her.

And those never fail to inspire _something. _(Like wounded pride and reckless abandon.)

He can't help but begrudgingly respect her ability to befriend the client within one go, to nestle herself in the hearts of everyone she talks to without any discernible conscious effort. It's not comprehensible, so it's not something he can praise, but- the way she laughs with people, the way she cries with people, the way she holds her plucky, stupid pride, the way she feels so strongly for others and takes everything upon herself- those are all things he's noticed about Mai and things he's come to acknowledge and appreciate, even if they have no immediate use in parapsychology.

So there, he sees her. He sees her at her worst and at her best and he cannot quite walk away for good.


	7. forget it

Mai is fed up within the week.

Romance has never factored into her life in the long term, and never as an actuality. She was never so fixed on it that it could put a dent in her day, because useless things like yearning for a boyfriend and receiving flower bundles were mostly outside of her interest. She liked warmth and noise and companionship, and these were all things that were easily attained with friends. She might have fancied a boy or two at times, but those infatuations didn't run deep—when it came to school, she remembered more after-class ghost stories than male classmates.

But then there was Naru, and he drove her insane _without _the added stress of attraction factored in. Once she'd figured it out, Mai was a goner.

Worse, she'd been _hopeful. _And it had only gotten more mortifying, in hindsight, when she reached the full, terrifying swing of young adulthood and decided seducing her boss sounded like a dandy idea. That was bad enough, but it wasn't just her boss, it was _Naru. _

Maybe seduction was a tad too strong a word, but there was certainly effort, however brief and frustrated it was. She took hints from Ayako and Masako—without asking outright, really—and it was embarrassing for everyone to see her quiet determination take the form of several new and old flirting subtleties. (She didn't touch him, though; that was beyond consideration.)

But she wore looser clothes, tighter clothes, implemented little imperceptible nuances in the way she walked—and ugh, it was too embarrassing to think on!—she held herself differently, she looked at him differently, she exhausted all possibilities within a few days and still every shameful sway of the hips and every bared shoulder whizzed right past Naru's sensory receptors. It was impossible. Naru didn't look at _any_ girl for longer than he had to, let alone Mai, and by the end of the week she was back to wearing big T-shirts and jackets. She was grateful her foolish phase was over, and tried to ignore the implications of it—for both her and Naru, that ungrateful _glacier_.

In the end, she wasn't disappointed that Naru was that way, though. It was merely an experimental impulse. She'd only wanted to see, maybe, if she could get him to look at her the way she looked at him—differently, at the very least. She felt stupid and trivial afterwards, like every girl who'd ever fawned over Naru, like every girl who eyed him like meat, like every girl who could not see the way his eyes gazed fiercely forward and forward alone.

From then on, she saw the distinction loud and clear.

* * *

Maybe this is a little ooc for Mai, but I feel like every girl tries doing this at least once and I kinda wanted to think about it. Thanks for your reviews & stuff! : If you guys want to leave me prompts or words and stuff, too, that'd be super appreciated and fun for me.


	8. and a foray into the future

Unknown to the inexperienced eye, there existed a position that Oliver took up on the rare occasions that he was troubled. To everyone else, it looked like common self-idolatry; the acclaimed researcher was engrossed in his own image in the mirror as if the only other place to find worthy answers was still himself, as if even a reflection was more knowledgeable than any of the SPR personnel on the case. It seemed like a pose of deep thought, and Gene knew that was a factor at large, but also…

"Throwing yourself into your work like this, you're really just anxious," he was saying softly. If anyone was mistaking Naru's position for his typical egoism, they were missing the similarly typical but much less renowned juxtaposition between his scowl and his reflection's serene look. When one occurred, the other often made itself present. Such was the way of brothers.

Naru lifted his head at that assertion, his gaze unconcerned and even. "I'd say you're rather anxious yourself," was his droll response, and at that, Gene's smile shakily unwounded across his face. Naru was perfectly composed in wit and words, but even through the waves of distortion between the waking and the dead, starting with his grandiose kikou to the tight fold of his arms, Gene could feel his brother's lauded restraint at its apogee.

Put simply, Naru was wound up. It was all right there: He was holding himself in, his fingers gripping across the black fabric. His expression wasn't any more sour than usual, but there was a distinct lack of calm in his eyes. And his kikou, the reserves that wowed the world over, was condensed and coiled so much that in the end it amounted to high water pressure _this close_ to shattering a glass encasement.

Gene didn't flatter himself; the psychic support he provided in tapering off Noll's colossal energy was probably more important than any emotional support he could offer. Through no fault of his own, of course, but rather because Naru was… quite… emotionally…

"Of course I'm anxious," Gene said, sounding the farthest thing from it. Their feelings tended to hang suspended alike that way, constrained and made smaller, but Naru took up the neutral front where Gene preferred mirth. He paused. "I'd be with Mai right now, in fact, if you hadn't asked me to help out with this case."

"You're not helping me out with this case. You've been blathering about Mai for the last five minutes." The words were meant to scathe at least a little, but Gene's mood persisted regardless. He shrugged helplessly.

"I already told you, I can't feel anything. The spirit isn't active yet."

"Useless." His heart wasn't in the jab, and Gene tilted his head with sympathy.

"Ouch! But, you know, the case isn't that hard. Any field team with a half-decent living medium could probably figure it out in less than a week." There was a hidden accusation there and Naru didn't like it. It was just obvious enough to be grating.

"Then, I'll do so in three days, once we receive the fundamental data and you decide to focus." Gene laughed. From Naru, it didn't sound like boasting. Maybe because it was grounded—had always been grounded—but maybe because it was a little pitiful, to see his grown man of a brother hiding behind a scientific outing. Naru sighed. "There's no use in being distracted with Mai's status. It's out of your hands—she's not likely to pass out during childbirth."

"You never know with her," Gene chuckled, and Naru inclined his head but said nothing. He either found the statement stupid or worrisome, and either way Naru stopped responding then and there, folding back into himself, stacking up his glass walls. And Gene figured his attention should have been on Naru, and usually that was the case. A few beats passed.

"I can't help it, Noll. I am distracted." There was an indiscernible shift in Gene's voice, as if he came across a mildly troubling matter, and Naru looked up to see Gene's three-fourths profile in the mirror, the spirit looking off at something Naru couldn't hope to see. As he often did, he elaborated without prompting. "I used to think I'd like to marry a nice girl and have a kid, too."

They both could have snorted; Mai didn't fit their definition of nice girl precisely. But Naru wasn't given to finding humor in gravity, and he waited for Gene to return his stare before he responded, flat and frowning. "Don't tell me you hope to live vicariously through me."

"Of course not," he said gently. "I'm only saying _that's your life now_, so I hope you enjoy it. The Greeks have a saying I thought of for you—Aν πιαστείς στο χορό θα χορέψεις. If you join the dance circle, you must dance. You joined the dance circle."

Naru regarded the mirror stony-faced, experiencing an instant of reminiscence, of days when Gene decried his empiricism and played the philosopher, days when he spoke wise words from old tongues at the most annoying moments, words that would have felt like chidings had Naru cared for them. He was always more interested in how Gene managed his adages in perfectly enunciated Latin or Greek or Old English with zero educational background. The ramblings of dead men about living life and loving it—he couldn't be bothered.

"I was more inadvertently involved," Naru said stoically, but they both knew that wasn't true at all. Gene chose to say nothing to that, but his eyebrows raised just minutely. Naru ignored it.

His cell phone buzzed.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Gene asked after a moment, breaking Naru's flawless indifference.

"I don't plan on it, no." he said, and Gene could just hear the foolish excuse—_I'm busy. With the case. _Too paltry to even vocalize, by Naru's standards, but a thought nonetheless.

"Do it for my sake. You can tell them that if it will save your pride," Gene pressed, and Naru shot a glare at him. Gene looked back firmly, folding his arms. "You're being silly."

With a pinched expression, Naru flipped his cell phone out and peeked down. "It's only a text message."

"A picture?"

"Probably."

"Who sent it?"

"Luella."

"Mom was there?"

"Of course. She'd sooner die than willingly miss the birth of her first grandchild."

Gene looked somewhat horrified. "So let me guess—Mom was there, Madoka was there, Lin was there, your Japan irregulars—"

"Martin skipped out as did Masako and John, as they all had _work—" _Naru felt frustrated already for having to justify himself in such a round-about manner, and more so that he had to justify himself to begin with. A dancing circle, right, a dancing circle of idiots with alien expectations.

"_Jesus_, Noll," Gene breathed, just as quietly frustrated. "You should call her."

"I was planning on it." He edged out. He scanned the text message for a moment, ignoring the photo attachment.

"Well?"

"Everything went well. Although you or I would have known if something went wrong, so there's not much point in announcing that, is there?"

Gene rubbed at his eyes. "Okay. I'm getting tired. _Call her_. And say hi for me. Δανκη."

"Don't push it," Naru said absently, clicking into the keypad on his phone. When he looked up, Gene was gone, and his irritating aphorisms with him.

(0)(0)(0)

It felt like a first, when Naru had to take a few moments off for personal matters in the _midst of a case_. It was, possibly, one of the most uncomfortable things he'd ever done. He collected data and received a status report, first, and gave the succession of orders to the bumbling rookie research team he'd offered to assist on account of some promising members (on account of some personal matters.) And then he told them he'd be taking a moment—just a moment—away and in private and he wasn't to be bothered, and he shared a somewhat awkward gaze with the team before slipping into the study and closing the door behind him.

Not even close to nerve-wracking, but displeasingly outside of his comfort zone all the same.

He leaned his hip on the desk and called straight to Mai's hospital room. She picked up on the first ring.

"Please don't make calls to a room with a _sleeping newborn baby_," he heard her whisper-hiss. "It took so long to get him to sleep, N—_Naru_!"

What a slow girl.

(Happy to hear from him, though.)

"Wasn't that a yelp just now?" he asked, and could almost see her bristling in that big white hospital bed.

She started snapping back at her regular shrill before she halted dead-syllable and backtracked to an agitated murmur. "Well, it won't happen again."

"How was it?" Naru asked, leaning into the receiver. "You're all right?"

"It was in fact not worse than Scandinavia," she affirmed. "Right again."

Naturally, Naru thought. Because this birth took place in the 21st century without complication and no one died.

She continued. "And he's really healthy, they said. He's very cute." He doubted that. "He might smile like Gene when he's older." Wishful thinking. That was normal, though. His expectations were a lot more scary and a lot more grounded.

He decided on safer ground to stand on. "Did you decide on a name?"  
The line crackled—that was some joyful noise, he figured. He had skimped on the process of agonizing over names, save for the moments when he absolutely had to shoot down Mai's suggestions—they were mostly ludicrous suggestions for the sole purpose of getting him to participate, though.

"Oh, yeah, I did," she said, her voice alight with something-or-other.

"And the name is…?"

"Kazuya."

There was just enough of a pause that even over the phone, Mai knew she had struck home. She really intensely loved getting the better of him, though those were rare occasions. He had to admit that was…. A surprising development, if not a joke. "Is that a joke?"

"Nope," Mai said, popping the P with satisfaction. "Birth certificate: Kazuya E.S. Davis."

"_Why?_" Naru asked at length. That wasn't quite displeasure or awe, but it wasn't the regular nonchalance that pervaded his mannerisms. _Good_, Mai thought. _He has no right to act nonchalant about having a baby, for God's sake._

__She tucked her winning smile against the receiver. "Oh, well I thought you'd like that name seeing as you kept it for yourself a whole year and _didn't plan on telling anyone."_

Naru sighed. A grudging and thorny 12 years, and still she was hitched on that particularly innocent piece of deception. But he supposed she found it romantic, because she went on with a more beatific tone, a tenderness. "I like the name, too."

"It passes." He responded.

She seemed to rush over the baby or family talk he'd expected, and asked boldly—"How's the case?" to which he said, "It would have been easier with our resident psychic bloodhound," which some might have taken as words of endearment or an 'I miss you' when really it was true that if Mai had fallen asleep on site the first day the case would have been at least figured out by then, exorcisms in tow. But he didn't mean to blame her for her absence when his absence was the blameworthy one.

Mai took to the words with wings though. "I see!" she whisper-exclaimed, obviously pleased despite the comparison to a dog. She just liked to be appreciated. "But it's still in the bag, isn't it?"

"Gene's being difficult," he said, although that wasn't exactly an answer.

"But you're there. So carry the case like you always do. Newbies be damned." She was being sharp then, and Naru wished they were face to face so he could ward off her uppity outbursts with a stare and a frown like usual. He'd have to settle for slant words without preface, though—

but by then, Mai was already rushing her words over his breath. "Naru: solve the case in three days and be back or I'm rearranging your bookcase by title."

He wasn't sure how she knew that would irk him, but clearly she did. Before he could tell her not to mess with his things, the line had ended with a resounding clack. Not the first time he'd been hung up on, but a little bruising, and a little motivating.

At least he didn't have to say, "I love you."

* * *

( I'll probably be writing a dysfunctional babyfic for these two over the summer so this is the prototype and preview hahaha uwu

I continually ignore Ghost Hunt canon in order to give Gene more screen time, just so you guys know

headcanon that he picked up on languages really easy/had a big cultural interest and generally could speak languages really well when the memory was left over from ghosts/possessions as a perfect medium

he was also really philosophical as opposed to Naru's scientific ways, and he'd probably be spouting greek adages all the time and generally being insufferable about it uwu

Δανκη - he's telling Naru to dance! or to enjoy himself anyway

Scandinavia refers to another part earlier in this fic that I didn't post yet but basically SPR took a case in Norway where Mai had another death experience vision and experienced death in childbirth firsthand, so she already... knew... what she was getting into, but worse and was... really terrified...

and Naru was like, ok well i'll be ghost hunting lates

i don't know if you can tell but i really like picking on naru is that bad)


	9. stance

Sometimes, despite all her logic and all her dignity, and all her self-preserving notions of decorum, Mai comes to stare.

Not the kind of heated staredown that charges her dealings with him from time to time. The kind of staring that befits a teenage girl.

Specifically a lovestruck teenage girl.

That behavior? In a word, sickening.

What she sees? In a word, captivating. Like nothing else before it.

Sometimes, she stares, and she sees.

(She can manage a keen observation once in a while, too.)

Noted: Naru crosses his arms when he stands, 70% of the time. The rest of the time, his hands are busy, or he's reading a book—holding a mirror? That narcissist—

but his posture is never quite slack, not even loose, something on the nearest cusp of 'relaxed' if he even gets close to it. Mai has her theories.

He's tight-wound and arms-crossed as a matter of restraint. He can't let himself mess up. He has to be alert 24/7—for external threats, and for the consummate danger dwelling in himself, a thrilling and ground-shaking, bone-chilling, inhuman power she's not sure even Naru understands. If he messes up with that, it's all over. If he messes up anything else, it might as well be the end of the world, too—Naru's pride doesn't take well to screw-ups. He crosses his arms because he can't relax.

Her second possibility is sad, too. Sad and thoughtful, she slides her gaze over him, the clipboard tilted over her lips.

He crosses his arms to keep people away. A second kekkai, a barrier between him and this idiotic world. If screw-ups are dangerous, interpersonal relations are straight cyanide. She's a bit sour about that, and in their idle moments, she counts the seconds he spends speaking with his arms folded in stone. It's a small thing. Hardly as potent as his glowering, or his quiet temper tantrums, or how he refuses to acknowledge some people altogether, and all these manners he so deliberately skimps out on—

But there's something about the way he holds himself that seems very, very lonely.


End file.
